Just Another Night
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: [Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights] On the eve of the Cuban Missile Crisis, two lovers on opposite sides reflect.


Disclaimer: I'm not quite sure who owns these characters, but I know it's not me.  
  
Author's Notes: Call me a geek, label me a loser, but this popped into my head after seeing the movie, and wouldn't go away until I wrote it. I don't know if anyone will bother to read it, but if you do, I hope it's worth your time:)  
  
Dedication: To Rose, who loves to salsa even more than I do.   
  
  
  
Just Another Night  
  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
  
  
October 22, 1962   
  
7:00 p.m. EST   
  
"Good evening my fellow citizens. This government, as promised, has maintained the closest surveillance of the Soviet military buildup on the island of Cuba. Within the past week, unmistakable evidence has established the fact that a series of offensive missile sites is now in preparation on that imprisoned island. The purpose of these bases can be none other than to provide a nuclear strike capability against the western hemisphere."   
  
Twenty-one year-old Katey Miller stared at the black and white image of President Kennedy on the dormitory's communal television set, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. In a nationwide address, the president was basically informing the United States that nuclear war with Cuba was eminent.   
  
"Can you believe this is really happening?" Curled up next to her on the overstuffed couch, her roommate, Andrea, shook her head. The rollers holding up her hair jostled dangerously. "It's like a bad dream."   
  
One of their dorm-mates at Radcliffe, Christina, spoke up from her place in front of the television. "It's not like this is completely out of the blue, you know."   
  
"With that Castro person pretty much running the whole country, it's no wonder they're on the brink of destroying themselves…and us in the process," another girl wearing a shower cap over her rollers added.   
  
"Let them destroy themselves," Christina continued. "They're the ones who supported him in the first place. The less ignorant, dirty island people in the world, the…"   
  
Katey shot to her feet, surprising all fifty of the dorm's residents who gathered in the common area to watch the president's speech. Without a word, she ran out of the room as fast at her slipper-clad feet would take her.   
  
Her chest felt tight, and as she stopped in front of her door, a wave of nausea hit her, forcing her to retreat to the bathroom. Once inside, she locked herself in a stall and dropped to her knees in front of the toilet.   
  
Staring into the porcelain bowl, Katey was relieved that tears, rather than vomit, appeared, dripping into the water at a steady rate. She wanted to stop herself, but she just couldn't. The last time she had let herself cry had been three years ago, on her last night in Havana. Her last night with him.   
  
Javier Suarez. Even just thinking his name conjured up images of his smile, white and bright against his darkly tanned skin, his eyes warm and electrifying…his arms, strong and perfectly sculpted as they guided her through a hot Latin dance.   
  
Three years had come and gone since the New Year's revolution had freed Javier's beloved country, but sent the Americans living there back to the States. Life, in its incessant way, had gone on. After leaving Havana, she'd graduated from high school, started Radcliffe, and even dated occasionally to keep up appearances.   
  
To an observing eye, as well as to her parents, Katey Miller's life was right on track, heading towards a promising future. But it was far from the truth. No one, not even her little sister, Susie, knew that in those three years, not a day had gone by when she didn't think about Javier. And every day, she mourned the loss of her first and only lover a little bit more.   
  
"Katey?" Andrea's voice broke through the silence of the bathroom. "I can see your feet, so I know you're in here. Are you all right?"   
  
Taking a deep breath, she replied in as steady a voice as she could muster, "I'm fine. I'm just…not feeling very well."   
  
There was a pause. "I know it's all pretty scary. I'm scared, too. But I don't think it's going to be the end of the world. Literally. So…come out of there. Please?"   
  
After a long moment of contemplation, Katey rose to her feet and unlocked the stall, stepping out with her eyes lowered. "Really, Andrea, I'm fine. See?"   
  
Her roommate studied her with a critical eye. "Then why are you crying?" Katey looked away, fresh tears welling up. "Katey…you can tell me. We're friends, aren't we?"   
  
Katey looked back at her, nodding. "We are." Wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her terrycloth robe, she cleared her throat. "It all started when my father's company sent him to Havana."   
  
  
  
October 22, 1962   
  
7:30 p.m. EST   
  
"Finally, I want to say a few words to the captive people of Cuba, to whom this speech is being directly carried by special radio facilities. I speak to you as a friend, as one who knows of your deep attachment to your fatherland, as one who shares your aspirations for liberty and justice for all. And I have watched and the American people have watched with deep sorrow how your nationalist revolution was betrayed-- and how your fatherland fell under foreign domination. Now your leaders are no longer Cuban leaders inspired by Cuban ideals. They are puppets and agents of an international conspiracy which has turned Cuba against your friends and neighbors in the Americas--and turned it into the first Latin American country to become a target for nuclear war--the first Latin American country to have these weapons on its soil.   
  
These new weapons are not in your interest. They contribute nothing to your peace and well-being. They can only undermine it. But this country has no wish to cause you to suffer or to impose any system upon you. We know that your lives and land are being used as pawns by those who deny your freedom."   
  
The static-laced speech was in English, but followed by a rough, Spanish translation after every couple of sentences. Javier understood both sets of words. And they both made his stomach lurch when he realized the truth within them.   
  
They had been betrayed. The revolution he had supported had turned into an autocracy, worse than the rule of Batista. The leader he had supported had become a dictator who executed at will. And the ideals his father had died for had somehow been lost, or if not lost, then twisted around so much that they no longer resembled anything worth fighting for.   
  
Cuba, his home, was now the world's enemy.   
  
"What does it all mean?" His nephew, five and a half year-old Rafael, looked up at him with too much worry in his eyes for a child his age. "Are we fighting with America?"   
  
"No, we're not fighting with them," Javier replied in soothing, liquid Spanish. "They think we have some weapons that they don't like. And they want us to get rid of them."   
  
"Do we have them?"   
  
Javier swallowed heavily. He wanted to say no, but he couldn't bring himself to lie to either his nephew or himself. He settled on a vague, "I don't know."   
  
"If we don't get rid of them, will they come here and try to take them away?"   
  
Again, he wanted to lie, but couldn't force out the words, especially not in the wake of America's failed Bay of Pigs episode only a year or two earlier. "It's possible. They've tried to come here before. They might try again."   
  
"I hate Americans." Crossing his arms, Rafael stuck his tongue out at their second-hand radio. "Papa says they need to be taught a lesson."   
  
Javier's voice was sharp; it was a tone he'd never taken with his brother's son. "You don't know all the Americans, so you can't hate them all. And your father says a lot of things, but that doesn't make them all right." His eyes closed for a moment as an image of her face flashed through his thoughts. The same way it had every day since she'd left.   
  
"Why not?" the boy continued, frowning.   
  
Shaking his head to clear it, Javier stood up and turned off the speech. "Just…go get ready for bed. I'll be there in a minute to tuck you in."   
  
Sliding out of his seat, his nephew grudgingly trudged off to do as he was bid. With his father drinking away his lost hopes in the nearest cantina most every night, Javier was the real male authority figure in his life, and he knew better than to defy him.   
  
After Rafael had gone, Javier ran both hands through his thick hank of coal-black hair. Whether Castro really had Russian weapons in their country, the Americans believed that nuclear war was only days away. So many lives in both countries hung in the balance. But even though he could count himself and his family amongst those lives, Javier was only worried about one life in particular.   
  
She was probably in college, studying away at her boring English books. He could almost picture her in his mind, with her brilliant blond hair pulled away from her face, her slender fingers turning each page, her long, smooth legs tucked up underneath her chair as she read. Katey Miller. Had it really been three years?   
  
It seemed like only yesterday they were dancing at La Rosa Negra, bumping and grinding in time to the heart-racing music, touching each other like they never would again. Yet it seemed like a lifetime since the night truly belonged to them and after her family had gone home, they had made love, losing themselves in the heat of a desperate embrace, whispering vows of love and loyalty long after the pleasure receded.   
  
Did she still dance? he wondered. Only part of him hoped she did, because Katey was truly alive when she was dancing. Yet the other, selfish half of him hoped she would never set foot on a dance floor on another man's arm.   
  
But there was probably no one dancing in America right then, least of all his first love. She had raised questions about the future of the successful revolution on the morning after Batista fled, when they woke up in each other's arms, but there had been no reason then for him to doubt Castro's word that he would give Cuba back to the people. Perhaps if he had listened to her though the lingering high of freedom and the satisfying haze of sex, he could have gotten his family out. He could have been with her for the past three years, instead of dreaming about her every night.   
  
But he hadn't, and now they were all trapped in a country that would never belong to them as long as the man they had elevated to power remained in charge. His brother, in his rare moments of sobriety, refused to acknowledge it, but Cuba was faltering. And if America declared war on them, they were as good as dead.   
  
And he would never have any chance of seeing Katey ever again.   
  
  
  
October 23, 1962   
  
1:00 a.m.   
  
Sleep just wasn't going to find her that night. Katey sat up in bed after tossing and turning for nearly two hours straight and turned on her bed-side lamp. Andrea was sound asleep in the other bed, snoring softly, her breath fanning a loose curl up and down.   
  
It had almost made her feel a bit better to tell her roommate all about Javier, although she had left out the more scandalous details. Andrea, like most of the girls in their dorm, was a virgin bent on saving herself for marriage; Katey had no intention of having all the beautiful things she'd shared with Javier become salacious campus gossip.   
  
Andrea had thought the whole story quite romantic, and had even expressed interest in seeing the Cuban style of dancing Katey had learned in Havana. Katey had smiled and agreed, but she knew in her heart that it would never happen. If her partner couldn't be Javier, she had no desire to dance ever again.   
  
After pouring out her story to her roommate, she'd gotten a phone call from her parents, as had many of the girls in the dorm. The entire country was in a state of panic, and the Millers were no exception. They had asked her if she was all right, if she wanted to come home, but she'd declined their offer to drive all the way to Radcliffe to pick her up. Javier's name hadn't come up, but she could tell her parents were worried about how she was taking the news in reference to him. How could she adequately explain to them what she was feeling, though? That she was terrified for the man she still loved with her whole heart…that she feared now, more than ever, that they might not be able to share that last dance they had promised each other before their separation.   
  
It was better to keep it all buried within her heart in that special place she kept Javier.   
  
Katey slid out of bed and walked over to the window. It was a cold night and frost already decorated the panes of glass. She'd told Javier about the white winters in America, but he had just laughed at her, not out of disbelief, but just to get her passions riled. Still, she wished he could be there to witness the light snowfall outside her dorm. She wished so hard it actually hurt.   
  
If a war started, nuclear or not, Javier would be forced to fight. Political leaders, greedy dictators and a handful of warheads would make them enemies and wouldn't give them any say in the matter. There would be no more dancing.   
  
She touched the window, the cold numbing the very tips of her fingers. "Numb my heart, too," Katey whispered to the October night. "I don't want to feel anymore."   
  
  
  
October 23, 1962   
  
1:00 a.m.   
  
It was too hot to sleep. Javier had long since thrown off the single worn sheet that covered him as he lay on the sofa, his makeshift bed. The ceiling fan spun above him, but failed to provide enough cool air to keep him from shining with perspiration. He sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. In just a pair of faded jeans, he stood and stretched before heading out of the house and into his mother's garden.   
  
As she was to his father's memory, his mother was faithful to her garden, spending hours every day tending to the beautiful blossoms. Not unlike Carlos's drinking or, if he could bring himself to admit it, his over-dedication to his work in the cigar factory, the flowers were his mother's escape from the miserable existence in which they now all lived.   
  
He inhaled deeply. The humid air was lightly perfumed with several different flowered fragrances, but somehow each of them brought back thoughts of Katey. Had he ever given her flowers? He'd given them to her mother and sister, but what about her? He couldn't remember, but he knew in his heart that she hadn't needed flowers to know how he felt about her.   
  
That was what he missed most. The connection they'd instantly formed. No one had ever understood him quite like she had, or listened to him with as much of an open mind. And certainly no one had ever matched him on the dance floor, much less be able to be both student and teacher.   
  
"You're still here with me, Katey," he whispered in English. Looking up at the moon, Javier had to smile. She slept under the same bright orb every night. Knowing that made the distance between them seem less, somehow.   
  
"Javier."   
  
Startled, he turned to see his brother stumbling through the iron gate leading into the little courtyard of their humble house. Obviously inebriated, Carlos clung to the wall for support as he continued in slurred Spanish, "Why do you talk to the moon? Do you expect it to talk back, little brother?"   
  
"I don't look to it for answers. Just company," Javier replied. As Carlos inched along the wall, he sighed. "Rum and perfume. Do you ever smell like anything else?"   
  
His brother ignored him. "I'm here now. You could talk to me."   
  
"Why? You wouldn't remember a word in the morning." Reaching for Carlos's arm, Javier slung it across his shoulders. "Sleep this off before Mama catches you."   
  
Carlos pushed him away, his drunken temper riled. "Don't treat me like a child, little brother! I can…take care of myself."   
  
"And you do it so well, too."   
  
Once more, he went ignored. Carlos was never consistent when he was drunk, going from angry to amused within the seconds. "Have you heard, Javier? We're going to war with the gringos!"   
  
"I didn't think it was quite that official yet."   
  
From his pocket, Carlos dug out a flask of rum. It was mostly empty but he raised it high nonetheless. "Here's to war, yes? To nuclear weapons…" He struggled to get the words to come out right. "…and Castro. Our great leader."   
  
Javier snatched it away from him before he could drink. "This is what you wanted, wasn't it? Cuba for the people, right? Life to the revolution!"   
  
Carlos looked down at the clay tiles. "This isn't what I wanted, Javier." He glanced up again. "This isn't what Papa wanted."   
  
"No. It isn't." Releasing a long sigh, Javier took a sip from the flask. "We should have left when we had the chance."   
  
Several minutes passed in silence between the brothers. "Come with me to the cantina sometime," Carlos said, clapping a hand on Javier's shoulder. "Best way to forget about all of this…everything. How long has it been since you've had a woman?" He frowned. "Have you ever had a woman?"   
  
"Go to bed," Javier said curtly. "Before Rafael sees you like this."   
  
Carlos paused before starting to make his staggered way towards the entrance to the house. He stopped at the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. "She's not waiting for you. Why should you wait for her?"   
  
"Because," Javier told the moon once his brother had gone inside and his anger at his parting words had faded into annoyance. "She's worth it."   
  
  
  
The End?? 


End file.
